Here Comes the Sun King
by sophieslastbraincell
Summary: Guernica loves languidity (or perhaps not) and alliteration. Enter: Tom Hollandaise. Slow burn. Friend 2 luvrs. Buckle up for a wild ride through the tumuluous seas of friendship and love. Autocorrect disregarded, though flirted with, dancing nude on the beach of what could be. "Completely unselfconscious" -Joe Biden "The preeminent work of English literature to date" -USA Today


Here Comes the Sun King I.

The night sky bore down low on the old buildings of London…it was almost 2am. A breeze wafted through the cobblestone streets, carrying the ghosts of market feasts from earlier sunny times. Now..all was darkness.

Little Genevieve was walking alone when she heard it. The low guttural of a bobcat. She could not but release a small wimper, such was her fear. She began to run, to run, to run, to run, to run…..her feet slipped on the grey-purple (for dark it was) stones, turning to pebbles as the city faded away into a dark forest, leafery crowding ovewr, as her feet continued to slip forward…

Finally she reached a wrought iron gate, for her heart wrenched her toward another such display of twist'd humanity. She lept over it on knimble rtoes and descended into further darkness until—

"duh duh Duh, duh, duh duh duh…" cmae the soothing tones of Genevieve's alarm clock (for yes, it tw'as a clock, a telly had not disgraced her bedside since 2019, when she had finally decided to give up that ostentatious marker of godforsaken industry). The year? 2022. A recent graduate of Podgemodge University, she had recently moved to the grey city; ever since, seh had been plagued by night terrors. A skelelton hiding in her closet, you ask? Nay, nor even an estranged wife in her attic. Nay, nay. She was working as a waitress at a cocktail bar in downtown city when she decided that it was timr to spursue her dereams. Alwasy enchanted b y academics and academia, having gratudated with honours from Peachfuzz, a baccelaureate degree in Ergonomics, a small yet expanding field, based in England, yet open to adventure, shenever did shy away from an opportunity. Yet when she was serving drinks, she ralized that all her hoeps had thus far been dashed by mere willinilly commitment, which had fallen so behind you see in the years that she had spent trying to get her luggage from the National Airport of London. YOu see, upon graduation from PU, she spend her last nickel to buy a flight from Connecticut, RI. Upon departure, however, hse realizec that she had forgotten her luggage at the airport. Nevermind, however, and landing, she receieved it, but not before seh remembered that it was not her luggage, but another's! And so commencned a multi-year battle against Big Wing, or, the deep pockets behind luggage losses at international airports.

when she woke up that rosy sunday, little tendrils of love tickled her feetsies, or rather, the toungue of her rogue pupster, tomlin. "Oh stop it," she said playfully to him. He bashfully and playfully looked away, uncommonly lacking verbosity, toward his empty water bowl…

Getting out of bed was laways a meditation for wee Guernica. To be sure, it was a time to be present with ones mind and with the hardwood floors, too, to be one with one's surroundings and one's aspect of being. A higher commitment to eventual ascension was key, and alwasy will be. Henceforth, she light an inscence and put it in the flowerput under her bedside table, a beautiful fern, christened George upon mysterious arrival to her home. The inscence was that of woody pine and springy lavendar. With that winning combination, a pang of regret nicked the cavity where her heart once beated, reminding her of home and words unsaid…but it was a happy smell too, for life is full of melancholic moments, drifting melodies never resolved and left to hang in stuffy air - for Genevieve detested opeing the window before 6 o'clock. sipping the almond milk by her bedside, left in the night by brownies of a form never to be seen, she felt a sudden bolt! of energy that came from such a nutritioucs and energiving beverage. almond milk o almond milk, how long a love aaffair has ever lasted …

deciding to do the appropriate thing and skimper off on work tht lovely springy morn, she bathed in goose milk and after completing the stocks for the morning, sprang off into the dawn! a brisque walk 'round the cauldoSACK later, wherein she throught she saw a glimpse of a new neighbor walking a block behind her, an attractive young man of apparent early second decade, looked like a peter or summit, with golden tawny locks like that of a beautiful lion, but nevermind, she turned her head and walked back up the stais to her mint green duplex (window shutters an eggshell white with floral accents). as she was walking up these steps she promptly forgot about the posibility of a new apartmental companion, feeling her weight shifting from foot to foot as she ascended those four (or so) stairs, elegantly poised like the subject of a Rembrandt piece, time seeming to expand below her shoe like the milky way, running out of itself and refilling negative space in the same infintessimla moment. right as she had closed the door behind her, however, came a soft, almost tender knocking. Guernica turned, facing the purple door, rounded at the top liek an expensive princess cake, catching herself in the reflection of the tiny panes of glass. she apprehended herself, taking in her dark and sumptious curls, like little grape vines round her baby ears (for soft like lambs ears they WERE, surely?), the picture of a grecian goddess, though dressed in her household mumu. she understood, in this instant, that beauty surely was in the eue of the beholder, a feeble phrase oft repeated but seldom understood, for, standing in her urbane walking shoes in her mumu, she caught a spark, a glimmer of that wild dream, in her little hazel eye. all this while the soft knocking continued, patiently, lovingly, even, she remarked inwardly.

"I;ve been knocking for quite some time," thought Tom, "I daresay no one's home. I shall go to my side of the house and never return. I shall dress up for muyself in my little suit, I will be sat down in front of a nice bowl of linguine and make my famous marinara sauce and let myself fall asleep in content, though imperfect, isolation."

"I should probably get the door," thought Genevieve, "who ever's right there has been knocking for quite some time. If I don't act fast they might just go home. Time seems so funny today, always out of reach always rushing forward while I try to scoop it back into my little pail, though—"

Geneveive's narrative was interrupted by a frantic rush as Tomlin (her pupster) made a beeline for the door and adroitly opend the glistening knob with his opposable thumbs.

"Tomlin! What! How!" cried Guenivere, who had never seen a dog do such a thing (nor had she ever noticed his opposable thumbs) in any setting, here in the city, nor in the wilds, where she spent most of ehr free time. This locomotive of thought was stalled, howeber, by the glowing face of that attractive neighbor she had noticed not 2 and a half minutes before, as she was coming back from her morning stroll, and, looking up into his speckled lashes, she immediately, despite being in her apartment for the last minute and fourty-five seconds, had a strangely profound and grounding sensation of finally feeling _home_.

"No one talks about hazel eyes," thought Tom, "I've never seen such enthralling orbs in my life, I wonder if she knows who I am, if I am being honest with myself, as I frequently am, I must admit that I sam unsure if I want her to"

Cheerio, I'm Tom, said tom hollandaise. I'm your new neighboor, living nextdoor.

Oh, uh, hai, Tom, I'm Genevive. Though Guernica could not admit it to herself at that moment, as it would take many lifetimes (rather, months) for her to understand the utter profundity of that exact moment in space, in time, she knew that something within her, a dream deferred, had stirred, beat its wings, preparing for flight into unknown beauty.

To be continued…


End file.
